


Sunday Morning Fight About Saturday Night

by Savageandwise



Series: Drabbles: We Will Never Be Here Again [8]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, F/M, M/M, McLennon, Work of fiction, bruise, not my take on reality, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-23 01:06:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15594846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageandwise/pseuds/Savageandwise
Summary: There were three people in their marriage: John, Yoko and Paul.





	Sunday Morning Fight About Saturday Night

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I wrote John. I missed him so much. I've been so out of it with real life stuff i worry I forgot how. Here's a drabble on the word 'bruise'.
> 
> The title is from Paul's "Single Pigeon"

He'd grabbed hold of John and left a mark. A purple bruise on the heart the shape of his fingers. What happened? What did you do to deserve it? Wrong (right) place at the wrong (right) time. He'd taken one look and fallen hook, line, thinker.

“You think I can't tell when you daydream of him?” Yoko asked. Set her brush down with a crack like a gunshot.

“You don't know anything.”

“I know you.” She reached down, cupped his prick. “Does he get you hard?”

She could go weeks without touching him and now this. The man was the cancer this marriage was built on. He was Spanish Fly. (Toxic blister Beatle used as an aphrodisiac.)

“Fuck off,” John muttered without enthusiasm.

He debated for a moment if he should fuck her before walking away. The itch was there but he wasn't sure he wanted her scratch. Fighting, their favourite form of foreplay, had long since lost its zest. (The bubble was decimated. Razed to the ground like Hiroshima and Nagasaki.) 

She launched her hairbrush at him like a goddamn missile. When the bristles grazed his cheek he went hard as a rock. John strode towards her, pushed her out the door and locked it.

“John! You can't lock me out of my own bedroom!”

He could do whatever the fuck he wanted. He leaned back on her pillows, pulled out his prick and pictured him. (Pictured the expression on his face when he played. The same one he made when he came.) Yoko beat on the door while he beat off. (Imagined pushing into that mouth, filling him until he gagged.) She was screaming when he spilled all over his hand, wiped it on her white coverlet. His heart was pounding out his name.

(Paul. Paul. Paul. Paul.)


End file.
